Youth of Delight, Come Hither
by KarasBroken
Summary: After Clayton's death, and before reporting to Indefatigable, there's time for leave, and for the boys to return home. But there is a lot left unresolved between them, and a lot they have to learn about each other. Pre-Slash.
1. Youth of Delight, Come Hither, Ch 1

_A/N: Takes place a couple weeks after "Navigating Deep Waters" and after Clayton's duel with Simpson. Horatio and Archie haven't managed to make much of a reconciliation, but they're not in outright conflict. Hope it makes sense._

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_Justinian_ was weighing anchor for Plymouth soon. Rather than stay with her, the _Indefatigable_'s new midshipmen had been given six weeks leave while their new ship finished its transformation from 64-gun third rate into a frigate. Time enough to return home, perhaps for the last time, if the tides of war did not favor them.

Archie was throwing books into the sea chest next to his. Horatio tried not to wince at the noise, and wondered if Kennedy was making a racket on purpose to provoke him into saying something. The other mid had been picking at him for days, trying to force his notice. Horatio had struggled to stick to the firm formality that he had decided was the safest way to deal with the bewildering boy.

His own packing was going more quietly. He had less to pack, of course, he'd only been on _Justinian_ a couple months, and unlike Kennedy, had kept his few possessions neatly stowed whenever possible. He had still managed to lose some of what he'd started with: a shirt gone missing, a handkerchief, one stocking.

While rearranging the contents to lie more neatly, he found tucked in a corner a handful of little flags, and the codes with their inadequate cipher, that Kennedy had given him a lifetime ago. He picked up the packet and turned toward Archie, trying to decide how to give them back.

Archie interrupted him by speaking first. "Hor- Hornblower, I have been meaning to ask, would you like a ride to London? It's easier to go on from there to Kent than to get a coach from Portsmouth..."

The offer surprised him. Things had not been well between them since the duel. It wasn't the awkward kiss, oddly enough, at least not on his part. Nor the vile things Kennedy had said, words meant to drive him away forever, or so he'd been told. That hadn't made him love Archie any less, only hate himself more. There was some truth in every accusation, after all. But in the wake of Clayton's death, Horatio had come to peace with his inclinations, however resolved he was never again to act on them. There were worse sins than unnatural lust-like wrath and murder-that weighed heavier on his heart.

No, what Horatio couldn't quite forgive Archie for was that his former friend had not stopped Clayton. He suspected the reverse, that Kennedy had forced Clayton into it somehow, manipulated the situation to save him from his own suicidal folly. Archie had been so cold at the man's death, caring more about getting away from Simpson and off _Justinian_ than the life just then sacrificed for their freedom, with more to come here and across the Channel, in the coming war.

It was a selfishness that seemed incompatible with the warm, fierce, loyal boy he loved and admired. And that made Horatio doubt himself, doubt his judgment, doubt his feelings, doubt everything except his attraction to Archie and his loneliness.

"Oh, Anne's flags! You keep them, Hornblower, you still need practice." Those strong hands were folding over his, squeezing tightly.

He had lost none of his awareness of Kennedy. He hadn't stopped missing Kennedy, wanting to talk to his friend, to laugh, to hold hands, or sit close together just stealing a few moments of warmth. The ship had been cold, and almost silent, these last days.

He felt the danger now, was all. Knew how this boy could drive him mad, drive him toward death, to other desperate acts. Better to keep his distance, to sit with other men, sling hammock just out of reach, keep to the aft hatch, keep busy, away from temptation. It wasn't Kennedy's fault, but he just didn't trust his sobriety around the boy.

He pushed the flags into the mid's hands and extricated himself, turning away back to his sea chest, so that he wouldn't have to look at the boy's face. "Thank you, Mr. Kennedy. And thank you for your other offer, but I couldn't impose."

Horatio began to refold a blanket that was not quite perfectly square.

"It's not an imposition... you see, my family is sending a carriage for me. There would be plenty of room. And... and why pay the fare? Spend it on a new book instead."

The truth was that Horatio hadn't expected to return home so soon, and with barely a month's wages saved the trip would strain his slender purse immensely. As it was, he would have to beg money from his father to get back to Portsmouth at the end of his leave. He felt his resolve weakening.

"I might even be able to get you on to Kent, if father is feeling generous. He might take a fancy to you. I'll tell him what a good influence you've been."

"There's no need to lie to your father on my account." That came out more bitter than he intended. Honesty would be that Kennedy had been a very bad influence on him. Though perhaps that was unfair. It was _Justinian_, and her whole miserable crew, that had dimmed his enthusiasm for the Navy.

"It wouldn't be a lie. But you will come with me? I mean, let me take you, I mean, you will ride in the coach, to London at least?"

It was a mistake. Horatio could tell by the way his stomach fluttered at the thought of the long trip to London, alone in a carriage, with Kennedy. But he nodded anyway. "It's very kind of you, Mr. Kennedy. I should be grateful to be spared the expense."

"Truly?" There was that blinding grin. The smile Archie had no right to, not from what Horatio knew of the boy's suffering. Yet here it was, brighter than the sun, for him.

"I'll have them hold your chest with mine, the servant will come here to fetch them. Don't dawdle, Hornblower, and we might be off this accursed boat before dinner!" Kennedy clapped him on the shoulder enthusiastically, then ran off to arrange matters.

Horatio gulped, and had to hide his face, then find some errand himself, far from the midshipman's berth, until he was quite recovered. This was most certainly a mistake.

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	2. Youth of Delight, Come Hither, Ch 2

The wind crossing the harbor had been bitter, and Horatio too busy paying attention to his stomach to make much conversation. Kennedy hadn't seemed inclined to talk either, just stared back at the retreating hulk of _Justinian_ until they reached the pier and stepped on shore.

When Kennedy quickly turned up a street leading away from the docks and the only part of Portsmouth Horatio knew, he felt obliged to question. "Where will we meet the coach?"

"King's Inn." Kennedy pointed upward, though the building was not yet in view. "I'll take a room for us tonight, and we'll start first thing in the morning if all has gone well."

Horatio wondered why they hadn't just stayed aboard _Justinian_ another night, and saved the cost of bed and board. After just a minute of watching his shipmate push through the crowd, though, energetic, almost bouncing with lightness, he understood. The chattering scamp who led him about was almost an alien creature. First crowding the windows of the bookseller to see the latest editions, then darting across the street to buy hot pasties, and spending the change on bruised flowers from a beggar girl for their buttonholes. Everything was new, and needed to be seen, touched, commented on, and preferably, enjoyed.

It was startling, and Horatio could only trail along quietly in Archie's sun-kissed rattling wake, questioning for the dozenth time if he really knew the other mid at all. When he saw where they would be staying, he was even less sanguine. King's Inn was tall and bustling, all fresh paint and mullioned windows, surrounding a large courtyard full of horses and carriages, and men dressed well. There were few Naval uniforms among the crowd, all of them shining with gilt. Horatio felt distinctly out of place.

The innkeeper seemed to think so too, until Kennedy produced a worn letter, after which it was all smiles and m'lords. Horatio couldn't help staring at his friend, who looked annoyed and uncomfortable until the door shut behind the last servant and they were alone in a fine room at the top of the inn, with a porcelain washbasin and a single wide bed that looked like Heaven.

The fact that there was only one bed was a problem that would trouble Horatio later. First he fixed Kennedy with a very firm stare. "M'lord?"

"Blast the man. I'm not a lord, you know. An 'honorable' at best, and I wasn't even that a year ago." Kennedy threw his satchel down and dropped onto the bed with an air of resignation. After a few moments, the mid confessed: "My father is the Earl of Cassillis."

Horatio blinked. A more unlikely nobleman than Archie was hard to imagine. The boy didn't even sound like a noble. Actually, Kennedy had a strange accent that seemed to shift with the boy's moods. "I thought your father was a Captain."

"He was, Captain Archibald Kennedy, North American Station... look, do we have to do this now? It doesn't matter, does it?"

That was the sort of thing only a rich person could say. "Well, of course it matters! I knew you had money, Kennedy, but... but... won't your father be upset that you're inviting a- a doctor's son to share your coach?"

"You'll be the most respectable boy I ever brought home."

Something in the way Archie said that, with those cool appraising blue eyes, made Horatio blush and get angry all at once. "You and your secrets, Mr. Kennedy! You might have told me I'd have to meet an Earl before I accepted the ride."

"Well you don't have to, if you're going to be snobbish about it. I could just open the carriage door and kick you out as we're passing St. Peters." Kennedy said acidly. "I was worried you'd be ridiculous about this."

"Well it sounds ridiculous. If it weren't for the innkeep, I'd think you were lying."

"I wish I was! God, what do you want me to say, Horatio? That I apologize? Fine. Pray pardon me for not mentioning that a year ago a second cousin once removed had the gall to die without sons and name my Da his heir. The title is in some little dispute, if that is any comfort."

Kennedy stood up again, pacing around the room with increasing agitation. "But you know, being an earl's son never seemed to stop Simpson from grinding my face into a table and..." Kennedy stopped in front of the washstand and poured water into the bowl not bothering to finish the thought before washing hands with unnecessary vigor.

"And besides, waking up from fits covered in spit and piss didn't exactly make me feel like a credit to the Kennedy name. I'm hardly my father's favorite son. So aye, I tried to keep it a secret." The boy dried his hands and threw the towel on the floor, dropping back onto the bed. "Forgive me."

Horatio felt horribly awkward at the outburst he had provoked. He stooped to pick up the discarded towel, and set it into place before coming over to kneel down near the bed and take Kennedy's freshly scrubbed hands. The boy had a knack for making him feel dirty and cruel.

"Archie," he said as softly as he could, "I'm sorry. Of course you had your reasons. And it doesn't matter who your father is. I am sorry."

Kennedy didn't look up at him, but didn't pull away from his touch either. "I'll forgive you if you say my name again."

This confused him. "Archie?"

Sunshine came again. "Yes. That's better. Are you sure you wouldn't like to go down and get dinner. Dinner that isn't salt beef and biscuit? And we have to decide what to do with the rest of our day."

Food sounded immeasurably safer than staying here, so close to Archie in a quicksilver mood. Horatio hastily agreed, and after a quick washing up, they went down to enjoy the inn's fare.

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	3. Youth of Delight, Come Hither, Ch 3

_A/N: This fic sort of came to me as a series of little moments in time, and that has meant some rather short snippets, some shorter than others. Sorry._

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The rest of the day went on more pleasantly, as Horatio found, without surprise, that his reservations about Archie's character and the advisability of their friendship were utterly unable to withstand extended contact.

No matter how many times he tried to remind himself of Clayton, or of dying Captain Keane, or the way that Archie was constitutionally incapable of being fully truthful with him, Horatio still found himself smiling. More full of chatter and life than he had seen since their first innocent week together, his friend's happiness was contagious. Half-way through their lamb and potatoes Horatio surrendered to his desire to bask in Kennedy's company.

After, joyfully stuffed, Archie proposed a long walk to the shipyards, where his friend talked them onto the half-finished hulk of _Indefatigable_. Coin might have been involved. It was strange and sad and thrilling to see the ship all but torn to pieces, missing poopdeck and forecastle, only jagged planks where a new waist had been cut.

Kennedy rattled on about guns and deck configurations until Horatio was quite dizzy. The boy had served on a frigate before apparently, though Archie didn't seem to hear when he asked the name of the ship and where it had sailed. But the mid was eager to point out the differences between a true frigate and what the razéed _Indefatigable_ would be like. A strong ship, able to withstand a broadside like the ship of the line she had been. But much faster, and better handling in bad weather, with her weight reduced and profile trimmed.

They both clambered about the decks and holds until Horatio was quite turned about. He couldn't help but notice that Archie's attention was often caught by the small spaces, noting odd nooks of deck and cabin that might make a hiding spot. Even on their new ship, it seemed, Kennedy was determined to have secrets.

Mostly they talked about what it would be like to be out at sea, where they might be stationed. Kennedy was eager for battle, and had plenty of news about their new captain, Edward Pellew. Sitting on the gundeck, listening to Archie spin tales of valor and seamanship, storms, and captured privateers, Horatio remembered again the thrill of honor and service that had called him into the Navy to begin with.

Even Archie's cynicism seemed lessened by the stories. In a fit of happy vandalism that left Horatio horrified, his friend pulled out a clasp knife and scratched initials into the wood above the hammock berth the boy fancied, then scratched Horatio's on the wood above the next.

He made them leave then, before they were caught, Archie laughing the whole while at his squeamishness. It was a long walk back to the inn, but to Horatio, it didn't seem so.

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	4. Youth of Delight, Come Hither, Ch 4

It was full dark and bitter cold by the time they made it back to their room. Archie wasted no time in ordering up a real bath. His friend was so quick about it, though, when Horatio was called in for his turn the water was still quite warm. Hunger wasn't enough to make _him_ hurry. Two months of grime and salt had accumulated despite his best efforts with sponge and basin, and Horatio was anxious to be truly clean.

Finding Kennedy in the common room after, he quickly realized his friend had passed the long wait in drinking. Archie's cheeks were a fetching pink, and the smile that greeted him when he sat down was wider and merrier than it ought to be. Horatio knew Archie liked to drink, had even saved out his share of grog more than once to cheer his friend during one of _Justinian_'s dark nights. It never seemed to affect Kennedy, just made the boy louder and happier.

But King's Inn ale was more potent than the small beer they were used to, as he tasted for himself. Besides, drinking on shore reminded him disturbingly of Archie's disappearance, and later punishment, for drunkenness. Though he was certain that Simpson had done something to Archie, hurt the boy, Kennedy would never say. So Horatio had never been able to stop wondering what had happened, and whether spirits had played a part.

They got through the food safely enough, though Archie was outpacing his glass by a considerable margin. Kennedy regaled him with details of sails and rigging for a frigate, illustrated in tableware and napkins with considerable vigor. It was a subject his friend could expound on in considerable depth, and where his own knowledge was still quite lacking. _Justinian_ had hardly more than sailed from one side of the harbor to the other in the whole time he'd been aboard.

By the time they reached the last few bites of pudding, though, he had begun to suspect some of the names for sails, and the conditions under which they were used had been pulled out of the ale barrel. At least he was fairly certain there was no such thing as a royal spanker. He was just about to admonish Archie for trying to have him on, when his friend switched topics to women, and completely set him aback.

Kennedy scooped up a last generous spoonful of sweet, a raisin resting atop the quivering pile. "Looks just like a lady's breast, doesn't it?"

It took Horatio several blinking seconds to adjust to the question, in which he tried very hard not to think about what a lady's breast looked like, and most particularly, his only recent experience with the same. "I really couldn't say."

"Oh come on, Hornblower, surely you've done this much at least with a girl." Kennedy's tongue was doing something extremely obscene with the pudding, and Horatio refused to look.

"I prefer not to discuss my past liaisons, Mr. Kennedy." Horatio hurriedly began gathering up their dishes. "Are you done with that? We should let the servers clear our plates." Pouting, Archie swallowed the rest of the sweet, observing him narrowly.

"You've never had any 'liaisons', have you? Not even got your hand down a girl's shift!" For some reason this announcement needed to be shared with the room. Horatio was irritated enough to kick his friend, who rubbed the afflicted shin, still grinning.

"Not everyone, Mr. Kennedy, ruts around with prostitutes." He felt bad, right after he said it. Another dark memory from their brief days on _Justinian_.

Archie didn't take offense though, instead leering at him over an emptying glass. "Oh, it's not that bad. You should try it. Better than getting a nice girl with child."

"I've no intention of getting anyone with child, Mr. Kennedy." Horatio was trying to find some way out of this humiliating, ludicrous conversation.

"That's the problem!" Kennedy punctuated this with a boisterous fist on the table. "You should have a woman, Hornblower! You should! Then you would never want to kiss a-"

"Kennedy!" he hissed desperately, kicking his friend again, harder, "Remember where you are!"

Archie blinked at him owlishly, apologetic, and leaned in close with the seriousness of the very drunk, stage whispering now. "I would give you the money, Hornblower. You don't know any better yet. But after, you would never want to kiss a boy again, you know."

"I'm quite certain I never want to kiss one again, now," he said, resentfully, looking around to see if anyone was paying them attention.

Some of his annoyance finally seemed to penetrate the fog of drink. "Are... are you mad at me, H'ratio? I just want you to be happy." Those huge ocean eyes were close enough to drown him, Archie's stub nose practically brushing his own. "I know a house near here, where there are very pretty girls, very pretty. They'd like you, you're pretty too."

This was not a conversation that could go anywhere safe. "Thank you, Mr. Kennedy, but I'd much rather go to bed. We both should go to bed." His sensible pronouncement was greeted with exaggerated alarm by his friend. "Don't we have to be up early?"

This reminder seemed to calm Archie, "We can sleep in the carriage. I want a woman, even if you don't."

Horatio ignored what he took to be a jab. "Show some temperance, Kennedy. I'm sure there are prostitutes in London. You can wait." He tugged at his friend's arm, only to have Archie try to pull away.

"Won't need a whore in London," Archie muttered truculently, "I have friends. Friends who kiss me."

"That doesn't surprise me." But the hot flash of anger did surprise Horatio, and he dragged them both to their feet with determination. "Why would you want a prostitute, when you could have a friend? You'd much better wait. Come on now."

Archie was fairly steady, despite the vast quantities of beer, but it did require some steering to get the boy going the correct way on the stairs. Cheerful enough, as Horatio secured the door behind them, and lit candles around the room, Kennedy turned obstinate when he tried to help his friend undress.

"I can do it. Don't touch me!" Archie lurched away, so suddenly Horatio almost choked the boy on his own stock. "And don't look, either." An unsteady finger punctuated this warning.

Horatio was about to snap that he'd seen it all already, when he realized it wasn't true. Kennedy had always been careful when dressing, claiming a hatred of the cold for the boy's habit of changing under the blankets. He had always supposed it to be the truth; Archie was secretive, but hardly shy or modest in any other fashion. Their room was deliciously warm now though, no stinting on the fire for a m'lord, and he wondered.

"Fine, Kennedy, as you wish. If you fall on your arse or lose all your buttons, it will be your own fault." Horatio turned about and began to rid himself of his own uniform, far more efficiently and with better success than his friend. He soon heard the tell-tale clatter of a metal button bouncing on the floorboards. Archie was being foolish. They were both boys, and had seen enough of men in all stages of undress on _Justinian_, if not before. He'd seen the mid's bare arse, scars and welts together, in the worst of circumstances; there seemed no point in hiding anything now.

Except, if this was about him, his eyes on Kennedy's body, his inclinations. That damned kiss, and all the unnatural wants that Archie inspired in him. That must be it. Kennedy didn't want to tempt him. As if the boy's smile, laugh, arm tucked in his as they walked the streets of Portsmouth hadn't been temptation enough.

Or perhaps Archie thought he might lose control of himself and threaten the boy's virtue, such as it was. Though if so, why a room with only one bed, or why not ask him to sleep on the floor? Perhaps that was the plan. In fact, surely there were pillows and blankets enough to make a comfortable pallet. Horatio began to strip down the bed, tossing spare bedding to the floor.

"What're you doing?" Kennedy was in night dress now, though the gown was on wrong way about and looked uncomfortable.

"I'm making up a bed for myself."

"But there is a bed right there."

"Yes, but that is your bed, Kennedy."

"It's a big bed, H'ratio. Everyone shares on shore. And my father would have asked questions about your purse if I'd paid for two rooms."

So his relative poverty was an embarrassment to his friend. Hardly shocking, no need for it to sting. "I wasn't expecting you to." He fended off Archie, who was clumsily trying to get the pillow back on the bed. "It's fine, Kennedy."

"It's a big bed," Archie repeated, in a strangely earnest way. "We won't even be touching."

"I don't want to trouble you. I know you are a light sleeper." That was true enough. Perhaps the boy had drunk enough to relax for once. Otherwise Horatio risked injury, lying too close together.

"You should come to bed with me, H'ratio. I won't mind, because it will be you."

Horatio felt himself blushing, and knew he would be damned to Hell for the perverse interpretation his mind put on Archie's innocent offer. "Better that I don't, Mr. Kennedy."

"Sleep here with me. It's a big bed. I don't mind." Archie was trying to scoop up the blankets now, hindered by having stepped into the middle of them. The tipsy incompetence should have been aggravating. Maybe he had drunk too much himself, because what he actually felt was a mad urge to take his confused friend in his arms and kiss the boy. So much for temperance.

Instead he grabbed Kennedy around the shoulders, holding the boy firmly at a distance. There was no fear in his friend's deep sea eyes, no revulsion, nothing cold, no rejection, not even laughter or any other shield between them. Just a little lost child, almost as lonely as he.

As he had done so many times already that day, Horatio surrendered to his foolish, rebellious, heart. "I'll get it Kennedy, stop. Thank you. The mattress looks very comfortable. I'm sure I'll sleep very well." With such enticement in arm's reach, Horatio was certain he wouldn't sleep at all. "Now let's get you to bed."

He made Archie push arms back inside the sleeves, and turned the night gown around, so it was settled properly. It took a couple tries to get Archie's arms back into their sleeves, and he had to put his hands in eventually and pull the other's back out.

Archie was hot to the touch, and watching him silently, with an unnerving intensity, as he performed this simple service. Kennedy continued the singular focus as the boy climbed obediently under the covers. Horatio felt that sapphire stare, even after he put the bed back together, blew the candles out, and crawled in beside Archie.

It _was_ large, wide as three berths. There was room, if he did not sprawl, not to touch. Though there was a heat like banked coals only inches away, and it was hard not to shift closer. He turned his back firmly on those watching eyes, and tried to school himself to sleep. The bed seemed suffocatingly soft and oddly still after weeks in a hammock.

He had only just managed to fall into a doze when Archie's voice roused him again. "Will you stay in London with me, a few days at least?"

The request was startling enough to bring him fully awake, and make him turn back over. Archie seemed serious, but if that was the ale talking or not was impossible to say. "I can't do that, Mr. Kennedy. I must go on to Kent, to see my father." Truthfully, he expected a long, lonely month once he got there. His father preferred books to conversation, and was often gone about his work besides.

Kennedy seemed to read his thoughts. "He will not miss you. You should stay with me, H'ratio. It will be my birthday, and there will be a party." Rough fingertips grazed his neck, then latched onto the collar of his nightshift before patting clumsy strokes of warmth down his chest. Horatio tried to edge away, but those insistent fingers held him in place. "You should stay for my party," Archie insisted. "It's for my birthday, you know. There will be a lovely pudding."

His friend sounded so anxious about it, Horatio felt his resistance melting already, as absurd as it was to think of being the house guest of an earl. "We'll see, Kennedy. Your family might not want me to stay."

"No one will care. They will all like you better. The Old Man because you are so smart, and mother because you look so fine in your uniform, and Anne, and... and they will put me in the carriage to Kent, and keep you instead."

Horatio had no idea what to make of this nonsense, and finally dislodged the boy's grip and turned his back again. "You are very drunk, Mr. Kennedy, and I am very tired. You should try to rest, as I am." For a few seconds, he thought his friend would obey him.

Then a hand shook him, trying to be gentle. "You must call me Archie, when it is my birthday."

"Yes, Kennedy, I will." He let himself put his own hand over those lingering fingers. Surely there was no harm in that. "Now go to sleep."

Wondrously, Archie quieted under his touch, and they both fell into a strange, uneasy slumber.

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	5. Youth of Delight, Come Hither, Ch 5

Horatio woke at regular intervals, anticipating watch bells that never came. Kennedy seemed to rest more securely, drugged by the barrel of ale the boy had consumed. More than once Horatio felt the twitch of limbs brushing against him, and startled, waited for a fit that never came, only incoherent muttering. Archie had not been plagued by that illness since the duel, Horatio thought, though he couldn't be certain, no longer sleeping near.

It was early in the morning watch when habit roused him again. It took some moments for Horatio to remember where he was; why there was the deep cushion of feathers under his left hip, and an almost silence, rather than the breathing and snoring of close-packed men. The reason for the delicious warmth blanketing him from neck to tail came to him suddenly, once he recalled his leave, and the inn.

Archie had crept closer in the night, and was now curled tight against him, arse pressed firmly into the small of Horatio's back. The sensation was unfamiliar, but incredibly soothing, relieving an ache he hadn't even been aware of. Horatio had to fight with himself not to push back into that accommodating flesh.

Sleep chased away, he tried to remain still at least, not wanting to disturb his friend. Not since early childhood, and the departure of his nurse, had Horatio shared a bed with someone. It _should_ seem strange. Another's body, so close to his he could feel the pattern of exhalation through his skin. The boneless trust of it, to sleep shoulder to shoulder, made his eyes sting and burn until he had to raise a hand and rub them hard to keep from spilling over.

The movement must have translated itself to Archie, who stretched then, callused feet scratching gently against Horatio's calves. Not quite waking, his friend rolled prone, then turned over again, before finally settling, sprawling across most of the bed. In self-defense, not wanting to end up on the floor, Horatio flipped about, nudging closer to take back his share of the mattress.

There was not much light yet through the window shutters, the darkness lifting only enough for him to make out the barest outline of Archie's form. Instead his memory supplied the image of his friend's face, in the rare relaxation of sleep. It was a Kennedy he never saw otherwise. The pain showed through, when Archie couldn't hide behind mobile energy and jests. Asleep, Archie seemed young, seemed like someone who might actually need him. Someone he must be strong for.

Horatio could guard his friend's slumber at least. He kept watch, while Archie breathed and shifted, holding still as the boy pressed closer again by degrees, drawn to his warmth perhaps. With the fire burned out, the air had a chill. Some time later, the room had grown gray, Horatio propped on a hand turned numb, while Kennedy had tangled a leg between his, padded hip thrust into the hollow of his stomach. Horatio was wondering whether he dare move to relieve the tingling in his arm, when he realized not all of his friend was as soft and compliant as the rest.

He felt his cheeks start to burn, even as he could not keep the corner of his gaze from fixing on the slight tenting of the covers. Horatio had gathered, over the course of his school years, and then the short, but brutally instructive weeks on _Justinian_, that this morning problem was not uniquely his own. But it was disconcerting to be confronted with the evidence so near at hand. He found himself wondering what Archie might be dreaming of.

Thankfully, his thoughts had not quite taunted his own prick into awakening when he heard a knock at the door, sparing him that embarrassment as he extricated himself from Kennedy's grasp, and slipped quickly out of bed to go answer it. It was the coachman, who he'd met briefly the previous night. John, he thought the name was, looked at him with open curiosity, before telling Horatio that they should be on their way within the hour, if they were to make it all the way to London before full dark made the roads treacherous.

Thanking the servant awkwardly, Horatio told the man he would wake Kennedy soon, and closed the door. Glancing at the bed, he could see his friend had not roused from his leaving. He couldn't quite bear to disturb the boy, limbs akimbo and looking sinfully comfortable. Instead he lit a candle, and moving as quietly as he could, washed and dressed himself. His friend still not stirring, he retrieved Archie's clothes, even the missing button, before feeling he could delay no longer. Kneeling down with a second candle, he called his friend gently, not wanting to startle. "Kennedy, Kennedy..."

The boy didn't move, except to throw an arm over still-closed eyes. "Archie, it's time to be up." Even that didn't work. The small mouth twitched, but no further response.

Horatio finally reached out to shake his friend by the shoulder. He was wise enough to immediately step back out of the way, as Kennedy came awake kicking, with a swing of fists. It clearly took Archie a few moments to remember where they were, staring about and touching the bed before finally looking over at Horatio with a rueful grin.

"Sorry about that." His friend sat up, shaking a sleep-tousled head about with a fierce grimace, then slid out of the covers and began looking about for scattered belongings. Kennedy had far more energy than Horatio thought the boy would manage after being so deep asleep, and with all that beer the night before.

"Did you sleep well, Horatio? I haven't been that warm in months, and I don't remember you kicking or snoring at all. You can share my bed anytime."

Horatio felt himself flushing, and kept his gaze on the ground as much to hide the blush as to avoid looking at his friend's still prominent erection. Archie seemed completely unconcerned with the condition, which only made Horatio feel more awkward. "I slept quite well, Mr. Kennedy," he lied, shoving the clothes he'd gathered and folded into Kennedy's hands. "Your coachman's been already, I'll go down and see about breakfast while you dress."

"Oh of course! I'll be down directly, we've a long way to go before home." Reminded of the time, Archie seemed eager to be on their way. Though Horatio noticed that his friend didn't move to cast off the nightshift while he was still in the room.

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	6. Youth of Delight, Come Hither, Ch 6

The Kennedy carriage was far more comfortable than the mail coach he'd ridden to Portsmouth. Even still, after a few miles the bumping and swaying began to work their misery on his innards. Archie had made the journey several times and knew the countryside well. Horatio soon lay back against the cushions, content to listen while Kennedy rattled on about the little hamlets they were passing through.

With him such a poor conversationalist, his friend often lapsed into silence too as the miles stretched on. He even caught an unusually pensive expression on Archie's face, now and then, though the air of melancholy was generally quickly punctured by a new commentary on the comeliness of a farm girl they were passing, or the quality of the ale in a village's tavern.

They stopped some little while before noon, to rest the horses. Though it was a cold, gray day, Kennedy proposed a walk around the town, rather than staying in the inn, and Horatio gratefully accepted. He began to feel himself again as they strolled down the one main street and into the surrounding countryside. The sight of a couple cows, nosing about for uneaten weeds, and the jumbled earth of fallow fields made him suddenly homesick for Kent. Archie just seemed happy to be stretching out, even trying to coax Horatio into a race along the lane that he didn't have the energy to agree to, no matter how pleasant it was not to be confined to the bare yardage of a ship's deck.

By the time they returned to the carriage, the coachman was ready again, a cold lunch stored in a napkin for them. Even the simple fare of fresh bread, butter, and cheese, with a bit of ham, tasted like heaven after weeks of hard tack and burgoo. They ate the whole loaf between them with hardly a pause, and searched the fabric for crumbs before retiring to their opposite seats to attempt the luxury of an afternoon nap.

When his belly began to rebel again, however, Kennedy noticed immediately, and offered to read aloud. Horatio gratefully accepted the distraction. The book Kennedy had chosen for the journey was a rather lurid tale of murder and illicit romance. After a few pages, he recognized it as that Scottish melodrama Archie had begun weeks ago, while propped against his stomach in _Justinian_'s light room. It had been their last good day, though it had seemed uncomfortable enough at the time. Horatio remembered the weight of that bright-haired head, and wished for a moment that he was laying across the other bench instead.

While Horatio had known already that Kennedy read well, his friend turned this recitation into a performance. Archie slipped without effort between several Scottish and English dialects, each character unique and the narration delivered with appropriate pomposity. Despite the risk to his insides, Horatio couldn't help opening his eyes to watch Archie.

His reader's attention was thoroughly captured by the material, so Horatio was free to let his gaze linger on curving and curling lips, on the hand waving and fisting then draping across a wide forehead with a despairing sigh. The story was ludicrous, and the writing overwrought, but Horatio was sad all the same when Archie finally pleaded a sore throat and had to stop.

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	7. Youth of Delight, Come Hither, Ch 7

The skies had darkened the farther they got from the coast, accelerating as the day went on. It was raining steadily by the time the coach had entered into London proper. Despite the chill gloom Horatio cracked open the shutters and stared out at what he could, catching glimpses of towering masonry and hurrying crowds.

"I'll take you on a tour tomorrow and you can gawp about with your mouth open all you like, but only if I don't catch my death from that infernal draft."

This acid pronouncement seemed more than a little ridiculous coming from a boy who had stood watch three nights together in the heart of winter, without coming down with so much as a dripping nose. Archie was impossibly robust. But Horatio's traveling companion had also been growing steadily more taciturn and spiteful the closer the coach drew to London. As Kennedy's tone could now effectively slice a roast, Horatio elected not to argue. Better to save both their energies for whatever scene his friend seemed to be anticipating on their arrival.

Horatio slumped back on the bench, closing the window securely. "Thank you for the offer, but I have been to London before, Mr. Kennedy," he smiled, without any answer, "And I should be on my way to Kent in the morning in any case." He tried to say it gently, not wanting to rile the suddenly prickly boy.

"No, you shouldn't." Horatio didn't know what to make of this curt, petulant statement.

"I... well I have to go, Kennedy, you know I do. As soon as I can get a seat on a coach. It's too kind of your family already, putting me up for the night. Are you sure it will be all right?" Horatio could not help nervously straightening his rumpled uniform. Try as he might, he couldn't quite keep from thinking about Captain Kennedy-to his mind rather like a taller, healthier, more sarcastic Captain Keene-sneering down at him resentfully like a rat flushed out of the sewers and sprawling on the Lord's doorstep.

"Stop fizzing, Hornblower. It will be fine, they are welcoming home the prodigal son for the last time before going off to war. Probably to get myself killed. My parents will hardly complain about anything I do. And I distinctly recall inviting you to stay the week at least."

"You were drunk. You said a great many things you didn't mean." Despite the scolding, he found himself polishing a button that had managed to acquire a tarnish in the last day.

"If I was all that drunk, I'm sure I meant everything. I certainly meant to ask you on a visit. And you agreed."

Horatio looked up, confused. "I didn't actually, Mr. Kennedy."

"You did. You said you would stay for my birthday party."

Horatio had spent the better part of the day's silences, which though infrequent at first, had grown as the journey lengthened, on reviewing and dissecting every detail of the previous night. He could recall each word he and Kennedy had exchanged, as perfectly as he remembered the texture of the boy's fingertips on his throat, or the heat of Kennedy's back pressed tight against his own in the pre-dawn hour.

Horatio had said only that he might, depending on what the Earl allowed, he was as sure of that as the smell of Kennedy, all lavender and young animal. But he still didn't want to argue, so he said nothing, lost besides in trying to forget the sensation of muscled limbs stretching against his own.

"Are we ever to be friends again, Horatio? Just when I think things are better, you go stiff and cold on me. We're to serve together, and we were truly friends, once. Say that I have not ruined it forever."

The change of mood and topic roused him from his reverie immediately. He couldn't quite make out Kennedy's expression in the gloom of the carriage. The other boy was mercifully staring down, rather than at Horatio.

_I thought you were my friend. I hate you._ The accusation echoed in his head. No matter that Clayton claimed Kennedy hadn't meant it. No matter how Kennedy tried to pretend the words hadn't been spoken, that the incident in the hold hadn't happened. Horatio couldn't join in the pretense.

His feelings, his... affection for Archie had been violently rejected, spat on and made vile. Horatio forgave Archie. Whether it had been meant or not, said out of fear, surprise, wanting to protect him from Simpson, for any reason or none at all, he forgave Archie equally. The flaw was in him, after all.

But Horatio could not forget. Not the words, or how it felt, that moment when the sun seemed to fall out of the sky forever, or his desperation after. Better to keep his distance, if only Kennedy would let him.

He could not say that, though, not with the boy looking so small, curled into a corner. "Of course we are friends, Mr. Kennedy. You are a very good friend to me, as you always have been."

His perfunctory tone had not gone unnoticed. Horatio was fixed with a pale, level stare. "Not always at all, not even mostly."

How did one weigh a handful of nuts tucked in his pocket, against a few crude jibes at his expense? Fingers spelling out jokes and dreams versus a fist in the face that revealed a nightmare? Which meant more, the gaze turned away while he was beaten, the callousness that urged another man to die in his place, or the limbs wrapping his so he would not fall, and a scarf, tucked about his neck with tender care?

It was a calculus too complex for Horatio to unravel. "We have both made mistakes, perhaps."

"Perhaps. But can't we leave those behind us now? _Justinian_ was a foul place. It made everything twisted and confused. Can we not start over?"

Horatio could not help but feel this was another veiled reference to his intemperate kiss, and made a stiff reply. "I am very glad to serve with you, of course, and I know I shall rely on you in our first weeks, as I already have. But surely you can think of more reasons than I to confine our association to our duties. We were thrown together, Mr. Kennedy, on _Justinian_. It will be different in our new posting. We will both, I hope, find company that is more congenial to our spirits."

Kennedy made no answer at first, just stared at him, before laughing harshly. "More congenial company. I wonder if you have any notion of how you sound, Hornblower. I thought you were still mad at me about Clayton, But this is about that business in the hold! Do you still think I honestly care about you kissing me? Good God, I'm not that much a hypocrite."

Horatio took some time to untangle this mess of reasoning, for he did care-very much-about Clayton, and he didn't know how to reconcile that with his feelings for Archie, pure or impure. Precisely because it _was_ so alluring, so easy, to fall back into their old closeness, they had to part. It was best for both of them. He was just drawing breath to say so, more bluntly, when Kennedy kissed him.

It was firm, and sudden. Horatio was more aware of the strong hand wrapping the back of his neck, holding him still, than the pressure of lips. He felt the puff of warm air against his skin, and then it was over, Archie pushing him back to arm's length.

"There. Now you may hit me, and we shall be even, and we can put this all behind us."

Horatio had just enough grasp of his senses to protest that. "But you said... I don't care about your fists, you said you _hated_ me."

"Then hit me twice, for being a damned liar, Horatio. I'll pay whatever penance you ask," Archie had the nerve to grin at him. "Even kiss you again if you like. Only say that we can be true friends again, and you forgive me."

Horatio was tempted enough that his hands clenched. Not because Archie had convinced him with this nonsense, but because he was so angry. There was mockery in Kennedy's expression, as if these last weeks were just a joke gone wrong, and not the most important and devastating events that had ever happened to him.

The maddening boy just sat there, waiting, apparently unconcerned as to what he might do. And in the end he could only cram back into the corner of the bench, as far from Archie as he could get, and snarl, impotently. "I don't understand you at all, Mr. Kennedy."

"Really? I think I'm being uncommonly clear." The boy slowed down, enunciating carefully. "I am very sorry for almost everything that happened on _Justinian_, Mr. Hornblower. But we are free of her now. And while you might very well find someone among our new comrades that is more sober and mathematical and kind and far less trouble than I have been, I cannot as easily replace _you_. So, I will do _anything_ to keep you, and if you can't comprehend why, it's only because you understand yourself even less than you do me."

Horatio didn't know what to make of this little speech at all. Archie hardly seemed sincere. However pretty the words, the boy's whole manner was still flippant, as if his compliance was already taken for granted. It was all enough to make his head ache. His lips had begun to tingle, besides, and he found himself rubbing them with the back of his hand. The motion of the coach, now starting and stopping frequently because of the city traffic, was making him queasy, too, and when his mind began to catalog his growing miseries, his eyes began to sting as well.

"We are almost home, Hornblower. You'll see I have some worth as a friend then. But you'd better let me re-tie your queue. It's gotten disarranged somehow, and you want to make a good impression on the Earl."

Horatio hardly cared, now, but he obediently turned anyway, and let deft fingers pull out the ribbon and smooth his hair.

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	8. Youth of Delight, Come Hither, Ch 8

There was no time to fret over Archie's words, or even gather the normal unease he should have felt at meeting the boy's family, noble or not. The carriage lurched for only a few streets more before rumbling to an abrupt stop. Kennedy did not wait for the coachman, but threw the door open, and jumped down, heedless of the puddles.

Horatio was more cautious as he stepped out, blinking against the rain as he stared up at the stone steps of the Kennedy residence. Even by lantern-light it was extremely grand. A couple boys were spilling up from the kitchen entrance, while above, a very solemn looking man opened wide the double doors just ahead of Archie's bounding pace.

He hardly had the chance to glance about at the cobbled street, lined with identical homes, each reaching several stories about the pavement and looking together like one single building with a hundred lit windows.

"Come Hornblower, the lads will get our chests and bags, and we're letting in the air." Archie was waiting impatiently at the top, disappearing inside as he followed. The man at the door, older than his own father, shut out the night behind him, and then Archie was stripping off hat and greatcoat, and urging him to do the same, before they passed through the entry and into the main hall.

The two story room was humbling, brightly lit and dominated by a great staircase leading up to a gallery around the second floor, where he could see a series of doorways. Everywhere was polished wood or stone, the walls hung with drapes where there were not paintings. He'd never been anywhere half so luxurious in his life, and could only stand and stare, self-conscious of his crumpled jacket and afraid to look down and see what mess his wet shoes were making of the carpet. Archie was chattering at the servant who had let them in, and Horatio was vaguely aware of his name being mentioned, when his attention was more thoroughly captured by a girl's head poking out of an upstairs doorway.

The head, piled with curls in a familiar hue, was quickly followed by the rest of her, charging down the stairs without a care for her expensive looking white frock. "Archie! You're home safe!" The girl flung herself into her brother's arms. Horatio had several moments to discern the relationship, as they hugged and kissed with an affection he found alarming. They could be twins, though he knew from Kennedy they were not. She was plump, and small, and had the same tiny nose and high cheekbones, and a smile he had seen many times, which was bestowed on him in turn, along with a pair of very curious gray eyes.

"Archie, you have brought us your Mr. Hornblower. Is he come to stay?"

"I believe he has." Archie's broad grin dared him to deny it. "Horatio, may I introduce you to my second sister, Miss Kennedy. Anne, as you have guessed, this is Horatio Hornblower." She made a very pretty curtsy, and Horatio remembered just in time to bow.

"Robert is still at his club, but John is above with mother and father. They'll be waiting, you should come up."

"No avoiding it until after a cup of tea?"

"You are too late for tea, you must do without." Anne wrapped her arm through Archie's, and urged him back up the stairs. Horatio trailed behind, as they went through the doors at the top into a large sitting room. There was an instrument in one corner, and several couches, chairs, and tables scattered about, but his gaze went first to the occupants of the room. Standing was an older gentleman, in an expensive suit that did not entirely conceal that this was a powerful man, gone slightly soft with age. Graying hair was pulled back in a sailor's queue, and the Earl's posture, hands clasped behind, gaze distant, recalled the quarterdeck.

Seated together nearby was a small woman, no doubt Archie's mother, and one of her sons. Some years older than Horatio, John had dark hair and the father's sharp nose, though wide-set light brown eyes gave a much gentler aspect to the young man's features. The Countess was a very sweet looking lady, with those same brown eyes, but her daughter's face, only blurred with age.

Horatio was aware of Archie pulling up stiff and straight beside him. "Father, mother, may I present my good friend, Mr. Midshipman Hornblower, lately of the _Justinian_, but who will sail with me on the _Indefatigable_ as well. Mr. Hornblower, The Earl and Countess of Cassillis, and my brother, Mr. John Kennedy."

He bowed low, feeling horridly awkward. The Earl only gave him a perfunctory nod, but the Countess smiled at him, and seemed pleased enough to meet him, while John Kennedy got up to shake his hand, and then clapped Archie on the back.

The Earl cut into the greetings. "We expected you an hour ago, Alexander. Left Portsmouth late, did you?" Horatio looked about, expecting some other brother come into the room, but Archie answered.

"Not at all, sir. We left quite early, but hit the rain early as well. I think we made good time for all of that. Do we have time to wash up before dinner?" Archie addressed the last to the Countess.

"More than an hour. Will you be joining us for dinner, Mr. Hornblower, or do you have your own family here in town expecting you? If you do not, you are quite welcome."

Archie quickly answered for him. "I've invited Horatio to stay until Monday, mother. I've promised to show him a bit of London before he is consigned to the wilds of Kent for the rest of his leave."

Horatio cursed Archie silently, but didn't quite have the nerve to contradict the boy in front of others. "Only if it will not be an inconvenience, ma'am, sir." He winced at the tardy realization that he should have used lord and lady, instead.

The Earl overlooked the offense, being busy glaring at his friend. The Countess just smiled at him wider, and patted the cushion beside her. "No inconvenience at all. I wouldn't dare send a young man away to the country without giving him a chance to see the city. Why don't you come sit with me, you must be tired from the trip. Anne, ring the bell."

He did as he was asked, of course, and sat beside the Countess for some minutes, while she arranged their rooms with the maid, and then asked him very kind questions about his father, and Kent. She had a much stronger American accent than the Earl or her children, and a very friendly, chatty manner, not at all how he thought a noblewoman, or even a rich one, ought to be. He liked her very much, and when Kennedy came to stand near, and her hand reached up without thinking to take her son's, Horatio couldn't help feeling a sudden envy of his friend.

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	9. Youth of Delight, Come Hither, Ch 9

Some time later, Horatio was shown into the room where he would be staying. It took considerable effort not to gape until the servant closed the door behind him. Though not matching the elegance he'd seen so far in the rest of the house, it was still the finest bedchamber he'd ever been in. There was a large bed, as big as the one he and Archie had shared the previous night, with wide carved posts, and a curtained canopy falling into thick soft drapes. He clasped his hands firmly behind his back to avoid touching them, but he thought the fabric might be velvet.

At the foot of this bed his own sea chest had been placed, looking dingy and cheap against the fine wool rug that warmed the floor. There was a small coal fireplace set in one wall putting out a lovely heat. Near it waited a washstand with brushes and bowls laid out. Opposite the bed was a wardrobe large enough to hide in, and under the room's one window, a little desk with a few books. Horatio couldn't help but look at the titles, mostly schoolbooks, with a few volumes of Shakespeare and other playwrights.

The walls were painted a deep peacock blue above the mahogany wainscoting. There were several small watercolors hung about in frames, some rather crude, others more skillfully executed, mostly scenes of the sea, and ships. The best showed a view of a crowded port, seen from the water, the bay choked with little boats full of brown people selling women and other wares. A few larger ships, from England mostly judging from the flags, seemed the focus of the activity.

Horatio's growing suspicions were confirmed when he came to a small oil painting, from the brush of a more skilled artist. It was clearly Kennedy, but done some years before. The trim little figure was in the unmarked blue coat and white britches of a volunteer. His friend's hair was lighter then, and curled around narrow shoulders like a girl's. The boy was standing next to a familiar brass-fitted sea chest. The round cherub face was all pink cheeks and white teeth, and the wide grin-young Kennedy looked very puffed up and proud-made Horatio smile.

A door between this chamber and the next, that he had barely noticed, opened then, and the portrait's subject poked a head in. "How do you like my room, Hornblower?"

"It is very nice." Horatio felt very conscious that they had not been alone since the coach. "But should you not have it?"

"They gave you the one that had actually been made up, I am relegated to cold and dust for surprising my mother with a houseguest. Not that I mind." Archie came in and closed the door behind him. "I spent time enough in here."

He did not know what sort of mood the boy was in now, and looked for a distraction. "Who painted these?" Horatio gestured about.

"I did some of them, my father's men did others. Not this one, of course." Kennedy had come to stand next to him. "My mother made me sit for this, before I left on the _Guardian_."

"Your first posting?"

"Aye. We had quite an adventure too." But Archie did not elaborate. Horatio thought to press the matter, the name of the ship sounded familiar to him, but then another question, that had been bothering him since they arrived, presented itself.

He turned his back on the portrait to face his friend more fully. "Why does your father call you Alexander?"

"To annoy me."

Horatio had little enough patience left for Kennedy's secrets, little patience left in general after a very long and nerve-wracking day. He just fixed Archie with a glare, until his friend threw up his hands and confessed.

"Because it is my name, if you must know. Alexander Archibald Kennedy, says so right on my papers. But when we were forced here to England, there was a friend of my mother's with a little boy, just my age, called Alex. I don't mind him at all now, but back then I apparently hated him, and refused to answer to Alexander anymore because it was his name." Archie grinned a bit at this, clearly proud of being a child just as stupidly stubborn as the man was proving to be.

"Anyway, I looked just like my oldest brother then, and followed him about everywhere, so they started calling me little Archie, and that is what stuck. You'll meet Arch, he's coming down from Scotland, with his wife and bairn. I don't look a thing like him now, but he's jolly and you'll get on well with him."

"Your father doesn't like nicknames?"

"Oh, he used to call me Archie too, well, when he bothered to use my name. He sort of had a habit of just barking out orders, to all of us, really. But I cocked up my chance to follow in his footsteps and make a brilliant naval career. It's been Alexander ever since."

Kennedy tossed this off very casually, but Horatio knew Archie enough at least to spot that as a mask. He tried to laugh it off as well. "It seems a bit early to give up on our careers, we're only midshipmen after all."

"Oh aye, but I should have been near lieutenant, you see. Who knows if I'll ever get put to the test even, with the fits and all. Still, we've a war now, and _Indefatigable_. Under Pellew, I ought to be able to get myself blown up dramatically and in an honorable fashion, which would please the old man." Archie grinned at him, but there wasn't any real light in it.

"I wish you wouldn't talk like that. Weren't you going on just yesterday about us swooping about the Mediterranean, picking up prize ships? And if anyone is going to die in battle, it's sure to be me. I'll probably end up crushed under my own gun crew's cannon in the first action."

Kennedy plucked up a pillow from the bed then, and threw it hard. Horatio, not able to dodge in time, caught it instead. "None of that, Hornblower. Guns are all paying attention and mathematics, you know. You'll be cracking at it once you've had a few drills."

"Are they really?" The few times the guns had been exercised on _Justinian_, all he could make of the exercise was noise that rattled his skull, men moving frantically in arcane pursuits, and the blinding smoke.

"Yeah. If you've time to aim, it's a matter of trajectories. How much powder, which kind of shot, what angle to fire at. In the heat of it, it's all about seconds, how fast everything can be done, and still done correctly. Fire one and a half times to each broadside from the enemy, and you win. That's what I remember them saying at least, I've never commanded a gun crew in battle."

Horatio lay down on Kennedy's bed, tucking the pillow under his head. He hadn't thought about it that way before, but he could picture the curves on a slate now, pulling out of memory equations that might apply. Force, distance, the weight of the shot, how to correct for the pitch of the ocean, aiming for the hull versus the rigging, so many variables to consider. "You've truly seen action, then?" He looked up at Archie, then away again at the boy's distant expression. "I always thought you were exaggerating," he couldn't help muttering.

He felt the bed sink under Archie's weight too, then fingers, stroking through his hair. "Just once. I expect we'll get our fill soon enough." They both fell silent then. Horatio's mind spun with calculations and the remembered smell of powder, and the awareness that in a few weeks, there might be men living and dying by numbers. By percentages and chance and his own commands.

It ought to panic him, he could feel the weakness fluttering in his belly. But the hand in his curls held him steady.

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	10. Youth of Delight, Come Hither, Ch 10

_A/N: My apologies for the long delay, and thanks to my kind reviewers. Hopefully I won't be as tardy in my next installment._

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At dinner Horatio met the rest of the Kennedys that were currently in residence. Missing were Archie's eldest brother and sister. Both were married, but expected to be back in Town with their families by the end of the week to help celebrate Archie's birthday and new posting.

Archie's youngest brother, David, was not quite eight and only allowed to greet them before being sent back upstairs to the nursery. The little boy, dark haired and energetic, managed to extract a promise of a sword fighting lesson the next day, as a bribe for retiring without further protest.

Margaret, only a few years older, was a prim, quiet little girl, and allowed to sit at the table, across from their guest. Horatio found her silent gaze a bit unnerving, for she seemed far more self-possessed than he, and even knew exactly what to do with all the extra plates and utensils. He caught himself watching her for hints when he was uncertain which to use for what.

Robert, Archie's next eldest brother, was loud enough for two or three people. The sharp-featured young man seemed to have an interest in business. At least, most of what Robert talked about concerned money made or lost and the prices of stocks and shares. Fortunately, Robert ignored him after an initial lazy introduction, for it was all fairly incomprehensible to Horatio. The third Kennedy son spent most of the meal arguing across the table with John, or exhorting the earl to support some new scheme with mixed success. Horatio didn't mind being forgotten for pounds and pence, since he much preferred the conversation of Anne, who was seated at his other side.

She talked across the table with Archie about books and novels. Horatio knew nothing about most of these either, but his friend lit up at the subject with an enthusiasm that had been lacking most of the day. Archie's sister was interrogated at length about what she had been reading, and not reading. The answers would soon be put to use restocking the sea chest library, if Horatio was not mistaken, so he followed the conversation as best he could, to know what to look forward to.

Anne gave her opinions boldly, and surprised him with the breadth of her interests. She seemed familiar with military accounts and histories as much as the poetry and gothic romance he had thought most women kept to. Of course Horatio did not have much experience with women, only those he had met in passing through his father's practice, or at church when he had attended, and their few servants over the years. It was probably good that he was not expected to keep up his share of the talk, for he would no doubt have said something stupid. But none of the Kennedys troubled him too much.

The countess in particular required nothing more than that he fill his plate, then directed his neighbors to refill it periodically from those dishes he could not reach himself. Clearing the china again kept his mouth sufficiently occupied throughout the meal. The variety and presentation rivaled his and his father's finest Christmas dinners, with fish, fowl, and meat, puddings, and more vegetables than you would think could be found at the end of winter cluttering the long table. Watching Archie's face was almost more enjoyable than the food itself, for his friend broke off wrangling with Anne periodically to abandon senses to some new forkful, with eyes closed and a beatific smile.

"Have a little more of the sweet, Mr. Hornblower," the countess urged, just as Horatio was deciding that he was in danger of losing some waistcoat buttons. "It isn't healthy for a sailor to be so thin. You'll blow away in the first storm." Horatio flushed and Miss Kennedy quickly jumped in to defend him.

"Don't tease, mother. Mr. Hornblower fills out the uniform quite nicely," she gave him a little wink that worsened the heat he knew was burning his cheeks. "Whereas Archie is danger of turning into a barrel. By the time we send you back they'll probably have to roll you up the gangway onto the ship."

This seemed unfair. Even when they first met, Archie had been sturdy, not stout. His friend had lost weight in the weeks they'd know each other, and no wonder. But Archie didn't take offense at the raillery. "Don't be ridiculous, Anne." Kennedy reached across the table to steal a generous spoonful off Horatio's renewed plate. "_Indefatigable_is far too large to take into dock. They'll use the hoist."

"Manners, Archie," the countess scolded, rapping her son's knuckles with her own spoon. "This is not the gun deck mess."

"I'm just keeping Mr. Hornblower in practice, ma'am," Archie grinned. "He must be quick and determined if he wants to defend his plate from the predations of hungry fellow midshipmen." Kennedy briskly launched into a series of little vignettes on the theme of bullies stealing their food and drink. Some bore a passing resemblance to incidents Horatio recalled from _Justinian_. Each revealed a sly trick that might be used to avoid the theft, from spitting copiously in one's cup to using sleight of hand to hide the best of the meal in one's lap.

It was not, perhaps, the most polite of dinner conversations. But Archie carried it out with such comically exaggerated gestures that even somber little Margaret was giggling, and the ladies had to try hard to maintain their scandalized looks. Horatio found himself smiling too, despite how very serious the problem had lately been. Of course, he had never seen Archie use any of the ploys being so vividly play-acted to fend off Simpson's indignities.

But Simpson was gone from their lives now, and the King's Navy so large that he and Archie likely never to so much as see the bastard again. Sitting here, finishing the best meal of his life, surrounded by servants, eating off china and crystal, with light from dozens of candles making the dining room bright as day, it was as if all the events on _Justinian_ were only an unpleasant and unlikely nightmare.

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	11. Youth of Delight, Come Hither, Ch 11

_A/N: So it turns out that having a baby is not terribly conducive to writing, at least for me. But I was reminded of this fic recently and found enough bits to hack into a new installment. I'm rusty, so forgive me for the inelegant prose. Thank you to my kind reviewers and followers. I won't make promises, but I do have a bit more of this written._

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After the meal was somewhat less congenial. The ladies rose together to make for the drawing room. When the door closed behind them, Horatio found himself the object of the men's attention, with the exception of Archie who was intently studying the crystal and table linens in a manner lately quite familiar. The jump when his friend's father addressed the boy was familiar as well.

"Alexander, you must better introduce your friend, that we may start to know your new shipmate." The captain began things abruptly, signaling to the butler to begin pouring more wine.

"Of course, my lord." The mid straightened in the chair, adopting the garrulous neutrality Horatio recalled from change-of-watch reports. "Mr. Hornblower is a country doctor's son, and as you heard me mention to mother, he must go home to Kent when his time here with us is over. Though he is a few months shy of his own eighteenth birthday, and had never set foot on a ship until the new year, Mr. Hornblower is also my senior, due to his being carried on the _Justinian_'s books these past five years."

Horatio hadn't even realized Kennedy knew this shameful fact about him, much less what possessed his friend to rattle it about to the earl of all people. It was worse than if the boy had taunted him about his sea sickness. He was certain that his face was purpling.

Seemingly unaware of his anguish, Kennedy dashed off the rest of the 'report' with a blithe aplomb that seemed practiced. "Yet despite his lack of active experience, I can commend Midshipman Hornblower to you highly, my lord, for he was already the best navigator among us, though his skills did not receive much practice at anchor. More importantly, my lord... Mr. Hornblower shares your view on novels." Horatio was rather surprised that the mid did not end the little speech with a salute. Perhaps Kennedy did not dare further impudence when the lord's face was glowering so fiercely.

It was several moments before the earl's attention returned to him, but when it did, the captain's gaze descended on Horatio like an anvil. "So you are not of a naval background, Mister Hornblower?"

"Yes, sir, m'lord, er, no, that is..." he could feel the heat growing in his cheeks as he stumbled. "Not exactly a naval background, your Lordship, but my father did serve in the Royal Navy for a time, under Captain Keene, as ship's doctor. During the rebellion," he added, trying to interpret the earl's tightening expression, but unable to decide which of the facts of his father's abortive career was adding to the displeasure of the older man.

"Ah. That would be the connection then," the earl snorted and picked up his glass, tasting it and then examining the liquid disapprovingly. "Saved Keene's life, I imagine."

"Yes sir, m'lord, I believe so." Horatio took a small sip of his own wine to fortify himself and found nothing to complain about, the concoction being surprisingly rich and sweet. Perhaps it was the lordship's manner to be critical, rather than Horatio's background and precedence being particularly objectionable.

The lord's irritated harrumph drew Horatio's attention back to his inquisitor. "Keene owes almost as many favours as he owns. Your father is not the first to place a problem with him." Horatio would have been stung by the slight if he had not seen how the man's eyes shifted to Kennedy, now sitting far back in the chair, a bland and completely insincere smile in place. The barb wasn't wholly aimed at him. "But Keene must have been very motivated, to manage to shift you onto the _Indefatigable_instead. Younger son, then?" The earl barked, and Horatio couldn't help starting to bristle at the man's manner.

"No, my lord, I am my father's only child," he said, meeting the earl's eyes directly for the first time. They were murky, colder than the lord's countenance.

John spoke up then, "It is unusual, Mr. Hornblower, for only sons not to follow their father's profession. What led you to the navy instead?"

Horatio hesitated. It was something he had been asked, though less gently, by many of his father's acquaintances. He rather thought most were motivated by fear of losing their parish doctor when his father finally retired. Few had been impressed by his expressions of patriotism, or admiration for duty. Under the unfriendly notice of a man who had lived the heroism-and sacrifice-he aspired to, Horatio found his usual reasons even more dissatisfying. He could think of no way to speak of his ambitions that did not sound naive, or vainglorious, or both.

But John was looking at him with a comforting directness. It was the lack of judgment that stirred memories, of warm arms, whispered comforts, and then sheets gone still and cold. Horatio didn't realize what he was going to say until the words had rung out clearly, with more solidity than he knew he felt. "I saw my father lose too many battles, despite skill, knowledge, and determination. I wanted to duel with enemies I could see, sir."

The other man, nodded thoughtfully, and even the Captain grunted with something less like derision, peering down the table at Horatio for a few moments before pronouncing his judgment. "You might wish it otherwise, but you will find very quickly, Midshipman, that invisible foes will plague you aboardship as well. Hunger, disease, and discontent are far more frequent, and more dangerous, than engagements and storms." This seemed to prompt memories for the earl as well, for the man fell silent then, and took a drink of unsatisfactory port.

"No, you're a smart man, Mr. Hornblower," Robert broke in. "Doctoring is hard, unpleasant work, and there's no profit in it. Sailoring is no better, and probably worse, but if you don't have a head for business, you'd be hard pressed to find a faster way to be in the brass. At least with a war on. Just avoid getting shot, blown up by a cannon or dropped by yellow fever, and you've an even chance of seeing gold before you're twenty." The narrow-faced man rattled off these dangers with the same concern a farmer might have for field mice and crows. "No need to even put yourself in the gunsights, if you're lucky! Just get your ship in view of the enemy, and you'll get your share, the same as the boarding party."

This cheerfully delivered fact of naval warfare surprised Horatio enough that he instinctively looked to Archie, but it did him no good for his friend was carefully inspecting the rim of the wineglass for chips or somesuch.

Instead, the earl subdued Robert's enthusiasm for the subject with a clearing of the throat, then answered Horatio's unspoken question. "It is true that all ships visible to the enemy at the time of capture share in the prize. An extra ship or two on the horizon can make the difference between a ship that tries to run or fight, and one that surrenders. But the captain who is always on the edge of battle, and never in its heart, wins no friends for himself or his officers."

The older man stared about, as if any of them might succumb to cowardice without this timely reminder, but lingered longest on his fellow mid. "You needn't worry about it under Edward Pellew. He'll get you into the thick of it every chance he can scrape. And you'll earn your prize money, if it comes. Pellew makes men out of boys. He won't keep a conniver or a layabout under him. But he won't spend your life cheaply either. Solid man, Pellew, knows that loyalty goes both ways, if it is warranted. Fine seamanship too."

The butler returning to refill glasses also handed the earl a wooden box, which the older man then extended toward Horatio. "You have a great deal to learn, Mr. Hornblower, but however it came about, you've found yourself the right man to teach you. Cigar?"

Hornblower rather thought this was a test. Yet for all that the earl had enough friends in the admiralty to sink his career with a letter, Horatio was too angry and off balance to calculate the correct response. "Thank you, my lord, but no." At least in refusal, he didn't risk making a further fool of himself by coughing or getting sick. The port was already rebelling in his innards.

Horatio could not tell if he had been raised or lowered in the earl's estimation, but he was not pressed, and the box passed around to the other men, though not, he noticed, to Kennedy. Conversation shifted about as well. John asked the lord's opinion of the prospects for a motion before parliament that Hornblower had never heard of, and could barely follow. Something to do with Catholics voting in Ireland.

The topic was well chosen to engage the captain's passions. Loud proclamations were dispensed freely for some time about the likelihood of passage, potential effects on civil order, and the motivations of the politicians involved, with the earls' sons playing the roles apparently assigned to them of thoughtful interest, brash argument, or silence.

Horatio was indescribably relieved when John finally spotted him muffling a yawn, and sympathetically called a servant to take him to his room. Kennedy looked up when Horatio rose to his feet, but after a glance at the earl, the boy only flashed a meaningless smile, and resumed contemplation of the candlesticks. He could not shake the feeling that the boy required rescue, but Hornblower didn't know how it could be accomplished. Given the uncomfortable feeling that his friend had tossed him in front of the earl like fox bait, he wasn't even sure he wanted to. He could at least make his own escape, and did, with awkward bow, little acknowledged.

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	12. Youth of Delight, Come Hither, Ch 12

Horatio had just settled into his bed, as luxurious and warm as it looked, when he heard a commotion in the adjoining room. Putting down the geography text he had selected to lull him into the arms of sleep, he slipped from the covers and cracked open the door.

Archie was manhandling a hammock mattress out of an opened sea chest.

"Didn't wake you I hope, Hornblower?" His friend tossed the bedding down, and began rummaging through the haphazardly packed possessions, tossing spare breeches and torn shirts about with a carelessness that made Horatio wince.

"Not at all, but... what are you doing Kennedy?"

Archie had reached the prized stash of books, and was quickly sorting through them with marginally more care than the clothes had been given. "The Old Man wants to see my log book."

"Now?" There was no timepiece in either of their rooms, but Horatio thought it must be no more than an hour to midwatch.

"Reports must be given promptly, Mr. Hornblower." Having found the item in question, Archie sat back, examining the rather battered volume with some resentment. "Fair warning, he'll probably ask to see yours tomorrow. To see what I've left out of my record."

Horatio's overfull stomach lurched at the thought, rather like it had when his teachers had announced a surprise exam. Archie didn't seem to notice, though, just gave a cheery, "Sleep well, Hornblower, I'll see you in the morning," before breezing out the hall door, leaving the mess behind.

Out of habit, Horatio gathered up the books at least, setting them on a table where they would not be accidentally trod upon. Then he shut the door to Archie's room, and headed back to his own bed, where sleep was slow to come even at that late hour.

Despite himself, despite his telling himself that the opinions of the Earl of Cassilis should mean nothing to him, Horatio eventually slipped from under the covers and rummaged in his own sea chest, returning to the sheets and candles with his log book in hand.

Being on the books was a venal but common custom, allowing future officers with connections to remain at school without penalty to their career. (And putting a few coins for their wages in their captain's pockets.) A certain number of years as volunteer and midshipman was required before a man could even test for lieutenant. But the younger a man gained his commission, the greater his prospects for future advancement under the strict seniority system of the British navy. Keene's bargain with his father had allowed Horatio to acquire an education that would serve him well when it came time for promotion to the higher ranks, without losing his place in line.

However, Horatio had already realized that the education his less fortunate peers received on ship was invaluable as well. Moreover, when they came before the board, they would have years of logs to show the committee, proving their experience. His own history would be obvious from the brief span of his entries, however he tried to expand their import with copious and exacting notes.

Reviewing them now, he found his lingering ruminations on the details of a decrepit, unwanted ship laying at anchor both pathetic and tedious. The events of his last few weeks, so momentous and life changing, were unreflected in the list of watch orders, soundings, and sexton readings. What remnants could be found there, the painfully objective recording of duties and punishments, his own and Archie's among them, would hardly improve either of their standing in the earl's estimation. Horatio hoped that at least the boy had also noted the disciplinary actions, so that his log book would hold no surprises for Captain Kennedy.

That night was one of the few times since deciding on the naval life that Horatio was glad not to have a sea captain for a father. Dr. Hornblower would ask him little about his weeks on _Justinian_, and care not at all about the contents of his log. Whatever might happen on the morrow, he had that benign incuriosity to look forward to when he was finally home, and the comfort of insignificance finally allowed him to sleep.

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	13. Youth of Delight, Come Hither, Ch 13

Horatio couldn't have said the time when he startled awake again. After the exhausting day of travel (and other trials), and freed from the constant sounds and movement of the ship, he had fallen quite deeply into slumber. It took some seconds before he realized what had disturbed him. Groans, and muffled thuds had him shooting out of bed and throwing open the adjoining door.

Light from candles not yet burned out illuminated the scene he'd feared. Archie was writhing on the ground, in the midst of a potent fit. His friend had at least been fortunate enough to fall partly onto the bedding left out from earlier. Horatio pulled Archie more fully on the mattress, and held the boy as tightly as he dared, trying to cover his friend's mouth. He didn't want Archie to wake the house. On _Justinian_ the condition had ceased to do more than annoy those disturbed by the noise. It had not been the subject of open comment. But he thought his friend would hate family or the servants to witness it. Besides, Horatio knew the seizures had something to do with the other mid's obvious tension with the earl, which needed no further provocation.

The attack was mercifully brief, though of course he didn't know how long Archie had suffered before he woke. But it was among the most violent Horatio had witnessed, and he collected several hurts from flailing limbs and head. When the spasms finally eased, then stopped, it wasn't soon enough.

"There, Archie... shh, it's over now." He had been babbling the whole time, he suddenly realized, soothing nonsense like Clayton had always done. If only it helped. A sound penetrated the sudden calm, making him look up. John Kennedy was standing in the doorway in a nightshirt, looking at them both with concern.

"Mr. Kennedy must have had too much port, he tripped and fell." Horatio lied automatically, surprised at how quickly it came to his tongue. He shifted to put more of himself between Archie and the door.

He wasn't sure Archie's brother believed him, or how long John had been watching. "Is he going to be all right?" the man asked.

"Oh yes, yes. I'll just get him to bed. He needs to sleep it off, is all." Horatio hoped this was the truth.

Those pale brown eyes moved from him to Archie behind him, and back. "You've seen him like this before?"

Horatio hesitated, then shrugged agreement. "A time or two." He saw the other man adjust to this admission, John's lips pressing together tightly for several moments before coming to a decision.

"Right. Thank you for your care of my brother, Mr. Hornblower. If you are sure you can manage, I will leave him to you." John started to close the door, pausing part way. "Best not to mention this tomorrow. The earl doesn't approve of... drunkenness. And mother would worry."

John waited for his nod of understanding before shutting the door. Horatio turned back to deal with his patient as the man's footsteps faded away.

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